Not the Only Feeling
by Herenya902
Summary: Joy abounds on the USS Enterprise during the holiday season, and Jim was no exception to the rule—until recently. Now, the man is hiding some kind of pain, and Spock is determined to discover the source and help his ashayam through it.


A/N Hey, guys! This is a little holiday Spirk one-shot I wrote for the ks-advent-that-wasn't. It was Beta'd by the fabulous voulezvulcan on tumblr. Any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Spock frowned, his lips turning down a fraction as his uniform sleeve brushed against the scratchy material of the synthetic garland that had been wrapped around nearly every railing on the bridge. He knew that the decoration was a traditional part of the holiday festivities on Earth, specifically in places where Christianity and Judaism were widely practiced. He did not, however, understand why someone had felt it necessary to cover nearly every exposed centimeter with it. If something were to happen, the railings would be unable to perform their intended function due to the excessive covering.

"Something wrong, Mr. Spock?" His captain's voice stirred him from his thoughts, and he shook his head.

"No, Captain. I was merely thinking. It was of little consequence, however," he added, as Jim opened his mouth undoubtedly to ask what he had been thinking about.

"A thought from you, of little consequence? I don't believe it, Mr. Spock." Jim's eyes were teasing, and Spock could not have stopped the way his heart warmed at the sight if he had tried. Instead, he quirked an eyebrow and said,

"If you will forgive me for contradicting you, Captain, I do believe that contemplating the usefulness of garland falls into the category of inconsequential."

Jim was smiling now. There had been very little occurring on the bridge over the past few days—aside from the routine star charting and the scanning of a large nebula. Any distraction from the monotonous routine was welcome to the human crew, Spock knew, and he could feel the eyes of most of the bridge crew on him and Jim as their conversation continued.

"Well, that depends on what its uses are, doesn't it?" Jim smirked, leaning over the arm of his chair. His playful tone suggested that he expected an answer.

Spock knew that the man was teasing him as he often did, but if that was the price he had to pay to see Jim's eyes sparkle, he was more than willing to play along. "As of yet, the only functions I can discern are those of traditional and aesthetic value." Jim raised an eyebrow, and, feeling somewhat more humourous than he typically did, Spock continued in a dry tone, "However, neither of these factors seem to justify its presence covering 72.7 percent of the exposed railing on the bridge."

That statement garnered a chuckle from Jim, as Spock had known it would. It also earned an exaggerated gasp from Lieutenant Uhura, who clapped a hand over her heart in a dramatic fashion. "Mr. Spock," she exclaimed, her eyes twinkling, "don't you appreciate my garland? Chekov helped me."

At the sound of his name the young man smiled. "Garland vas invented in Russia, Meester Spock," he declared seriously, and although Spock recalled that it had been fabricated in India far before reaching Russian soil in order to show reverence to the Hindu gods, he did not argue with the ensign. "It es quite beautiful."

"Indeed it is, Mr. Spock. Is it not enough for something to simply be beautiful?" Jim was grinning at him still from his captain's chair, and Spock knew that this was a battle he could not win, not when his ashayam looked at him with that particular mixture of playfulness and adoration in his eyes.

"I suppose that its place in tradition is grounds enough for it to serve no other purpose," Spock conceded, inclining his head to Jim and Uhura.

"I'm glad you came around," Uhura declared with a smile, familiar—after three and a half years of service—with the particulars of the Vulcan's humor. "There will be plenty of it at the party tomorrow night."

Spock nodded. Privately, he did not desire to attend the annual holiday party that the Lieutenant put on in the Enterprise's largest recreational room on December 24, but he knew that his presence was expected. He also knew that Jim enjoyed interacting with the crew in these less formal ways, and the man would appreciate his presence.

As his thoughts drifted to Jim, so did his eyes, and he was surprised to see that a shadow had crossed over his ashayam's face. As soon as it appeared, however, it passed, and the man grinned widely. "See, Mr. Spock? Not inconsequential at all." Spock raised an eyebrow, partially in response to the words themselves, and partially in response to the too-tense way that they were said. Something was bothering the man, but Jim shook his head slightly, and Spock knew that the bridge was not the place to pose his questions. And so he let the subject drop and turned back to his sensor, going over the readings from the nebula once more.

. . .

When Alpha shift ended, he invited Jim to eat lunch with him in his quarters, as neither of them had previous engagements to keep. The man had hesitated for a brief second before smiling and nodding, allowing Spock to lead the way to the turbolift that would take them to the deck where both of their quarters' resided.

As the lift descended, Spock took the time to observe his captain more closely. He had not had the opportunity to do so today, as he had awoken before the other man and had not seen him at breakfast. Jim looked weary—as if the shift on the bridge had drained him of an already exhausted supply of energy. Such a change concerned Spock; the man had been energetic, excited even, for the last fortnight in anticipation of the holidays...or so he had believed. Now, he was not so certain.

Jim did not speak as they exited the lift and walked toward Spock's room, passing his own. They had walked in silence comfortably many times before, but the distant look in Jim's eyes concerned Spock in a way that the silence typically did not. He stopped in front of his door to enter the code, and Jim collided into him. He blinked a few times and an apology fell from his lips as he backed up sheepishly. Spock's fingers stilled, the last number unentered.

"Jim, perhaps it would be wise for you to visit Dr. McCoy in sickbay," he suggested quietly, gently resting his hand on the sleeve a few inches above Jim's wrist and looking into his captain's eyes. It was a careful touch, one meant to help center the man and provide him whatever comfort he needed.

Jim blinked once before his face morphed into a smile. Perhaps the expression would have soothed the worries of one who was not as well acquainted with the man, but it did as little to assuage Spock's concern as his words did. "I know Bones says you're all skin and bones, but that doesn't mean one small collision warrants a trip to sickbay."

It was evident from the strain in Jim's expression that the man knew to what Spock referred and simply did not wish to discuss it. For a moment, Spock considered pressing the matter anyway. He did not like the vacant look that had come to the vibrant man's eyes, and he wanted to do all that he could to restore them to their typical splendor. But then something in Jim's face shifted, and Spock nodded minutely before entering the last digit of the code and causing the door to slide open with a soft hiss.

Once inside, Spock gestured for Jim to sit at the table and made his way to the replicator, where he entered the codes for a soup he knew the man was partial to. As he did so, he tidied up the space, moving aside several of Jim's hardback books and loose papers that had been haphazardly stacked nearby.

Although he and Jim did not technically share quarters, approximately thirty-two percent of the man's meager belongings had migrated to his room since the beginning of their romantic involvement eight months and sixteen days ago. The fact that their quarters were connected by a shared refresher facilitated such a movement, and although Spock was unused to sharing his space with another he found that the extra items did not bother him as much as he might have thought they would. How could they, when having an open book on his desk meant that Jim had been sitting there with his feet in Spock's lap as he quietly read and Spock worked on reports?

Chiding himself inwardly for becoming lost in thought, Spock carefully removed the two bowls of soup from the replicator and carried them back to the table. He placed one in front of Jim and sat. The man took a deep breath, and a genuine smile danced on his lips when he looked back up.

"White bean soup? You spoil me, Spock," he teased, and some of the usual light returned to his expression. Spock basked in that light—Jim was his sun, a near-endless supply of warmth that he thrived on and mourned when obscured—for an instant before replying.

"White bean soup is hardly an item that could 'spoil' you. Even the good doctor would have to agree to its many beneficial vitamins and proteins. It is, at the very least, far healthier than the dishes being prepared for the holiday dinner tonight," he stated, recalling the list of rather sugary items that Uhura had been reviewing at breakfast that morning.

Jim chuckled and began to sip at the soup, his eyes sliding closed as he did so. Spock's own soup sat untouched as he occupied himself instead with watching Jim's movements and changing expressions, looking for some hint that would reveal what it was that disturbed the man's mind. After a minute, he settled on a strategy to carefully bring the conversation to the cause of Jim's distraction.

"The level of excitement that the crew has expressed over the past two weeks has been most impressive," he remarked, carefully watching Jim's face for any change. The man's spoon stilled on its journey to his mouth, but his features remained mostly relaxed as he placed it back in the bowl.

"That's what the holidays will do to most," he replied, smiling slightly. "Although I must admit that something does seem different this time. Perhaps it's the relative peace we've experienced for the past month. I don't think there's been even a yellow alert shipwide for nearly three weeks."

"Two weeks and five days," Spock replied automatically. The event in question had not truly been deserving of the alert, as the unidentified ship had proven to be an old freighter that had been abandoned by its crew nearly a decade before after faulty wiring caused the life support systems to begin to fail. It had been harmless, and the alert had ended only five minutes and three seconds after it began.

"That's practically years for this ship; it makes sense that the crew wants to celebrate."

Spock nodded. "Indeed. Ensign Chekov seemed quite enthusiastic about his assignment to the decorating crew for the celebration." The young man had spoken of little else for the past week, and although Spock found the extent of the decorations to be excessive, he could not deny that the activities had proven to be effective stress relievers for everyone...everyone, that was, except for Jim.

The man had participated in the decoration of the ship and planning of the holiday festivities cheerfully since the start of the month, but within the last week, he seemed to have lost his enthusiasm for the task. Why that was, however, Spock could not determine.

"I had not anticipated such a spirited response from you on the bridge when I questioned the purpose of the garland," he said carefully, maneuvering the conversation in a way that he hoped would allow him to probe deeper into the change that had occurred in Jim.

The man raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why is that? I appreciate the holiday aesthetic just as much as Uhura does." His tone was teasing, and part of Spock wanted to abandon his pursuit and allow the man to remain in his facade, but this happiness was hiding a deeper pain, and Spock couldn't allow it to remain without attempting to offer his aid in whatever way he could. First, however, he had to persuade the man to admit that something was wrong.

"I thought you might have become disenchanted with the holiday season," he replied, keeping his tone neutral as he stirred his soup. "You have not participated in as many of the holiday activities this week."

For an instant, a shadow of some dark emotion flashed across Jim's face, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, and Jim's lips turned up in a smile, too stiff to be genuine. "You know how it is; the holidays can be a little much every now and then. I've just been a little stressed is all. I'm fine though, I promise."

Spock gazed at his ashayam from across the table for several long moments. Jim was lying; he knew that. However, he also knew that the man was unlikely to divulge anything further, and if he pressed the issue now he would draw away, and Spock's opportunity to help him would disappear. He would merely have to be patient.

"Of course. Forgive me, Jim," he said, bowing his head slightly. In response, Jim only smiled softly, and their discussion turned to other things. They passed another half hour in discussion before the communicator on the wall clicked and summoned Jim to the engineering deck to review an adjustment that Commander Scott made to one of the Jeffries tubes.

Jim stood from his chair with a sigh, stretching his arms above his head and causing his shirt to ride up slightly. He yawned and then smiled down at Spock, and despite his worry, Spock felt lighter knowing he was the object of the affection he saw in the man's eyes.

"I'll see you later, Spock," he said, pulling his shirt down once again and then presenting his index and middle finger for an ozh'esta. Spock responded in kind, allowing his affection to bleed into his ashayam's mind from the contact. "Dinner at my place at 19:00?"

"I will be there, ashayam."

Jim smiled at him again and placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head before leaving the room. Spock stared at the door even after it closed behind the man, attempting to decipher the puzzle that was Jim's mind. Whatever it was that was disturbing the man must be personal, or else he would have shared it after Spock's prompting. They had endeavored to be more open with one another since the beginning of their romantic relationship, and thus far they had been successful in their attempts. Until now.

Eventually, Spock pulled his mind away from those thoughts and focused instead on the various reports and experiments that demanded his attention. Those occupied him for the next several hours, but in the back of his mind, his thoughts swirled around the question of what was plaguing Jim.

. . .

It was 18:58 when Spock knocked on the door to Jim's room. He could have entered unobstructed through the shared refresher, but he decided that he would rather place the choice to invite him inside more fully in Jim's hands. The man had done so initially, of course, but his recent behavior cast doubt on the invitation.

Regardless, almost as soon as Spock's knuckles made contact with the metal, Jim's voice called from within, beckoning him inside.

When the door opened, Spock was met with a more-disheveled-than-usual room. Jim's uniform was crumpled on his bed along with his sheets, and several books were scattered across the surface as well. Two plates were stacked on the desk, and a PADD balanced precariously on the edge. It was not truly dirty, but it was a far cry from its usual organized state, and Spock had a suspicion that it had been that way for at least a few days. The only space that seemed to have retained its organization was the far right corner of the room where a small Christmas tree had been erected, it's synthetic branches twinkling in red, green, and gold lights.

He did not comment on the room's appearance and instead sat down at the table where two plates were set up on either side of their usual chessboard. Jim had not mentioned playing, but Spock was more than amenable to the idea. He treasured his time spent with his ashayam regardless of the activity.

"Hey, Spock," Jim said, greeting him with a soft kiss before guiding him to the table. "How's the experiment with Sulu going?"

Spock took a seat and waited for Jim to do the same before answering, "The crossbreeding of the two flowers from Cylor did not produce the intended effect in the seeds, but I believe that we will be able to create a proper hybrid using the Feanda plant from Urul VII."

It was an experiment that he and Lieutenant Sulu had been working on when time permitted for the past three months. Their aim was to create plants that produced seeds that could survive in the harsh and varied climate of the Kellian system where the Federation hoped to establish an outpost within the next five years. It was a fascinating project. Unfortunately, Spock had done little more than provide theories thus far, as his work occupied too much of his time to allow him to take on a more direct role.

Jim smiled, and Spock noticed with no small degree of relief that the expression was hardly forced at all. "You know, I think professors often forget to tell students that science doesn't work far more often than it does; not that that has deterred you or Sulu, of course."

Logically, it was an error in understanding and application of theory that caused experiments to fail and not the science itself, but Spock knew what Jim had intended by his words, and so he nodded. "Indeed. It is a rare discovery that is verified on the first attempt."

"Well, if you're up for a game of chess, I'd like to test a theory of mine," Jim said, gesturing with his fork to the board between them. "I believe it is your turn to play white."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I look forward to seeing this theory at work." With that, he moved his first piece, and before long, they had set what remained of their food aside and focused on the game, conversation flowing easily between them.

Eventually, the talk turned to the next day, and Spock carefully mentioned the holiday celebration that was being held that evening. Jim had had a hand in planning it, he knew, and would likely wish to attend, as he often did with events such as these. They gave him an opportunity to socialize with the crew on a more open level than was possible in the everyday operation of the ship. Spock himself had little desire to spend an extended amount of time surrounded by so many people, many of whom would likely be inebriated on some level or another, but he would gladly go to support Jim. And so he asked,

"Have you prepared a speech for the celebration tomorrow night? I believe Lieutenant Uhura intends to ask you to give the first toast."

Jim's hand froze mid-move.

"Speech?" He frowned. "I don't remember giving a speech last year."

Spock raised an eyebrow and set his own piece back down on the board. Focusing on the game was less important than focusing on Jim right now. "Jim, we have not attended either of the two winter parties that have been held on the Enterprise since the commencement of our five-year mission."

"We haven't? Are you sure?"

"I am. The first celebration occurred while you were recovering in sickbay after the Jorikian Incident." Jim had been unconscious for an entire week, and Spock had refused to leave his side until he had been forced to do so by Dr. McCoy. Even then, he had managed to slip back into the sickbay during the celebration, and when the doctor had returned he had not attempted to remove him again.

"The second was scheduled for December 24 of last year, but at that time we were both in the custody of the Grekons on Greos after the rebel faction interrupted the peace talks. The celebration was then moved to early January. You had planned to attend, but we were both summoned to a video conference half an hour before it began."

As Spock spoke, Jim began to nod slowly. "I remember now. I was thinking of the New Year's party that Scotty threw for the officers last year. Huh." He sat back in his chair, fidgeting with the knight he still held. There was silence for several moments as Jim sat in thought, and Spock watched as different emotions flitted briefly over his face, replaced too swiftly for him to properly identify. "I'm not sure I'll go to the party this year. Uhura or Scotty can handle the speech."

At those words, Spock pushed aside all thoughts of the game. Jim was, of course, free to decide that he did not wish to attend the celebration, especially since it was entirely voluntary, but to do so was out of character for the man who loved to spend time with his crew whenever he could.

"Ashayam," Spock said quietly, reaching across the table to take Jim's hand in his own, "tell me what is troubling you." One of Jim's hands was clenched tightly around the black knight, and so he took the other, gently rubbing circles into the tense muscles.

For several long moments, Jim was silent. His eyes were trained on the chessboard, but Spock knew that his mind contemplated something much darker than a game of chess. Finally, he looked back up, pain and sorrow in his eyes.

"I just don't feel up to being around a lot of people." As soon as he finished speaking, he dropped his gaze again and pulled his hand away. Spock's first instinct was to hold Jim tighter, but he let go. He could see the weight of whatever it was that disturbed Jim pressing down on the man's shoulders, making a confident and strong man shrink in on himself until he appeared uncertain and afraid.

"Do not hide from me," Spock requested quietly, hoping that his voice could appropriately convey his willingness to support Jim through whatever it was that plagued him. Allowing his loosened his grip on his emotions, allowing his concern to shine in his eyes and show on his face. "Please, Jim."

The silence that followed his words seemed to stretch for as long as the universe itself did. Twenty-seven seconds of eternity. Then,

"I guess my theory didn't pan out." Jim's voice didn't crack—Spock had only heard it do so once, surrounded by hot sand under the Vulcan sun—but he could hear the tremor in it. The man swallowed thickly. "I'll see you tomorrow, Spock."

For a moment, Spock remained seated, not wanting to acknowledge the words as the dismissal that they were. Part of him demanded that he stay and solve this mystery, heal his ashayam's aching heart, but the larger part of his mind told him that if he pushed now, Jim would push back as forcefully. The resulting force would only hurt them both.

Slowly, Spock rose from his chair and walked to the door, the silence in the room heavier than mere air warranted. When he reached it, he turned around, his eyes finding Jim's and holding them. "I love you," he said, and the words could not fully convey the endlessness of his feelings. The door was sliding shut behind him when he heard a quiet,

"I love you too."

. . .

Spock didn't sleep that night. At first, he attempted to meditate, but when he had failed to properly center his mind after seventy-six minutes, he abandoned the pursuit. For a time, he was able to focus some small portion of his attention on the various reports that needed to be looked over before they reached the next quadrant and were recruited for some task or another. But by 23:00 his mind was unable to think of anything but Jim.

He had left the man alone. It had been the logical course of action to take, but that did not fully assuage the guilt that he felt at doing so. Jim was suffering, and he had left him alone. Before he could tread too far down that path, however, he was reminded that thus far his presence had not seemed to alleviate any of the weight that had settled on Jim. If he wanted to make a difference, he would need more information.

Almost as soon as he came to that realization, a plan began to form in his mind. Once his mind had a goal on which to focus its energy, the time began to slip by. He worked through the rest of the night and only realized that Alpha shift would be starting shortly when the chronometer on his desk chirped. He set aside his nearly-complete work and stood, his spine popping as he did so.

He changed out of the uniform he still wore and went about his typical morning routine. When he had finished, he picked up his PADD and began to scroll through the reports that had come in from Gamma shift while he had been working. The only incident of note that had occurred was an injury on Deck 12, where an ensign had cut his hand while repairing a loose communications panel. He had been treated and released with little loss in productivity.

Satisfied that there was nothing demanding his immediate attention, Spock was about to turn off the device when he saw that there had been a change made at 03:42 in the duty roster for Alpha shift. Jim had removed himself and given Spock command of the shift.

When the implications of the change sank in, Spock found himself wanting to abandon his previous plan and simply stride into his ashayam's room and care for him in whatever way that he could. The logical part of his mind stopped him, however, as he recalled the events of the night before. He had no reason to believe that his presence would be any more beneficial now than it had been. No, he had to gather more information first. Once he had done so, he would return to Jim's side and not leave until the brilliance had returned to his eyes once more.

. . .

Jim was not at breakfast. Spock had not expected him to be, but some illogical part of his mind had hoped that perhaps the man would reverse his earlier decision. He did not, however, and Spock ate his meal in solitude, leaving for the bridge a mere ten minutes after entering.

People rarely believed him when he told them that he had no desire for the captaincy, but they had never felt the way that his skin crawled when he sat in the captain's chair. Still, he took his place in the center of the bridge—relieving the lieutenant who had lingered after the completion of the last shift—upon his arrival and forced the feeling of _wrongness_ to the back of his mind. As the rest of the bridge crew began to file in, they each paused momentarily when they saw him there instead of Jim. They did not question the change aloud, but Spock could see both confusion and concern in their gazes.

Questions hung in the air, and as soon as everyone was at their stations, Spock addressed them. "Captain Kirk is taking personal time. As such, I will be the commanding officer for this shift. All duties are to proceed as normal." It was far from a detailed explanation, he knew, but he did not desire to divulge information he knew Jim would prefer remained private, nor did he desire to lie to the crew.

Thankfully, none of the crew questioned his words, and Alpha shift passed without incident.

As soon as the Beta shift replacement arrived—a young lieutenant by the name of Dilon—Spock made his way down to the medbay in search of Doctor McCoy. He had messaged the man earlier about meeting with him, and the doctor had suggested that they talk over lunch in his office after Alpha shift was over.

The door to the medbay slid open with a quiet hiss, and Spock was greeted with the sight of a somewhat concerned Leonard McCoy. "What do ya need, Spock?" he asked as he led the way to his office, where two plates of food were set out. Spock noticed with a sense of appreciation that his meal was vegetarian.

He waited until they were both sitting to respond. "Jim has been behaving abnormally for the past 4.7 days and has rejected my attempts to discuss the source of his distress or offer aid." Spock looked down at his plate. It was difficult for him to admit his emotions to another besides Jim—it had always been easy with Jim—even one as close to him as Leonard McCoy. The doctor had been the first person that he and Jim had told when they began their romantic relationship, and the man had been remarkably supportive. Since then, he and Spock had become what Jim would term 'fast friends'. Still, admitting to the depth of the emotions he felt was difficult.

Finally, he managed to continue, although he was unable to meet the doctor's eyes as he did so. "Jim and I have decided to be open to each other about our feelings and thoughts, and although it is something we both struggle with, we have had success."

"Until now," the doctor finished, nodding slowly. He had begun to cut at the chicken fried steak on his plate, but now he set his utensils aside, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms in front of him.

"Jim's as strong a person as they come, you know that, but he has never been good at opening up to others, even the people he loves." Spock nodded. He had seen that behavior in the man before, and he had known that it would be a challenge they would both have to overcome over the course of their relationship. "Some things, however, are worse than others."

The doctor let out a sigh and uncrossed his arms to run a hand through his hair. "Listen, I'm only telling you this because I know you love him and you'll take care of him." Spock nodded once. "You know about Tarsus IV, right?"

"I presume you refer to the massacre that occurred there while Jim resided on the planet with his aunt and uncle?"

"Yeah. Well, the reason for that massacre was a food shortage caused by a bio-disease that wiped out most of the food supply. It was winter then, and the colonists couldn't grow enough to support everyone, so the governor decided that the only way for any of them to survive was to kill half of the colonists."

Jim had told him that much of his history one night over chess. The man had spoken quietly, reverently about the past and those who had died, but his emotions had been far less powerful than they were now. What was different?

The doctor sighed heavily. "Those colonists were executed on Christmas Eve."

Spock's eyes widened minutely as all of the pieces fell into place, creating an image of pain so strong it was a wonder that Jim had managed to keep his emotions in control this long. Why had he not told him? Why did he not allow him to share in his pain as they had promised each other they would?

"I understand the cause of Jim's sorrow now," he hesitated, "but I do not understand his behavior."

Thankfully, the doctor did not require a further explanation. "You think he doesn't trust you."

Hearing the words aloud caused a sharp pain to seize him, constricting around his chest and making it difficult to breathe. After a few moments, he was able to push it aside and formulate a response, although his words seemed hollow compared to the feelings that were bubbling just under the surface of his mind.

"I have sworn to protect him, and when I cannot do that, I have sworn to comfort him. The fact that he has not deemed me fit to do so in regards to a vital event in his past is concerning, to say the least."

Leonard looked at him for a long minute. Finally, he shook his head slowly. "Jim trusts you with his life. He would jump off a cliff if you told him, and not just because he's reckless. He knows you will keep him as safe as you can. The problem for Jim isn't physical danger; that's something he can see and fight, and with you at his side, he knows he'll win." The man shook his head again, searching for the words to convey what he knew of his long-time friend. "This isn't like that. Jim doesn't want to seem weak, but he also doesn't know how to fight this. It's different because it's the past. He knows there's nothing he can do to change it, and he thinks he should be strong enough to face that alone."

A frown pulled at Spock's lips, and he did not work to disguise it. "He does not have to."

The doctor smiled slightly, a sad twist of his lips. "I know that, and you know that. Jim's just used to doing this alone. If you go to him now, he won't push you away. Just be careful. He may not be up to talking about it all right now. But you being there will make a difference."

Spock nodded slowly. His ashayam did not need to suffer alone. He stood from his chair, his food untouched and far from his mind, and bowed slightly. "Thank you for your insight, Doctor," he said.

"Of course, Spock. Take care of him, okay? If there's anything physically wrong with him, call me. I'll make sure I have one of the private rooms available for him if he needs it." There was a tender affection in the man's usually gruff voice, and Spock was struck with gratitude for the country doctor who had been a friend to Jim for so long.

"I will." The doctor nodded at that, and Spock left the room, his feet quickly carrying him to the turbolift and then down the corridor to Jim's room.

He knocked on the door, keeping his voice steady and calm as he announced, "Spock here." There was silence for several long moments, but Spock refused to allow panic to take hold. Then,

"Come."

The door slid open, and Spock stepped into the darkened room. His eyes instantly fell on Jim, who was sitting on the floor, wrapped in a large blanket and staring at the Christmas tree, its lights the only thing illuminating the room. The man did not turn to him as he stepped inside, and so he quietly walked over and sat beside him.

He wanted to turn to Jim and tell him that he understood now, that he didn't have to suffer in pain alone, that he could trust Spock enough to be vulnerable, but instead, he remained silent. He simply sat as close to his ashayam as he could, providing quiet support.

The man has been in the same position for hours, Spock can tell, possibly since the night before. He can smell the salt that still lingers in the air, and although Jim's cheeks are dry now, he knows that it was not long ago when tears had been tracing their way down them, dropping to the blanket below and being absorbed by the soft fabric. Spock wished that he had been here to comfort him then, but he was here now, and he would do all that he could.

They sat that way, in silence, for seventeen minutes and thirty-one seconds. Then, Jim shifted, opening his blanket cocoon and allowing it to engulf Spock as well so that they were pressed together from shoulder to hip to knee. Still, he did not speak, but everywhere their skin touched Spock projected his love and support, and he felt Jim relax minutely.

Another twenty-six minutes pass. Then, Jim begins to speak. His voice is little more than a whisper at first, but it gradually gains strength as he recounts the horrors of that day so many years ago. Spock simply sits in silence, allowing his ashayam to say the words that have been tumbling inside of his mind for so long, quietly wiping away his tears when the memories become too much.

"We had been slowly starving to death for over a month, but that hadn't stopped people from celebrating. I guess it's a human thing, to celebrate even when everything is going wrong. Families sang carols together with voices that were raw with hunger but also full of hope. People shared the little food that they had with one another. We survived.

"Then, on Christmas Eve—_Christmas Eve_—Kodos came in and rounded people up, tearing families apart even as they sang of hope and joy and love. He said that the only way for some to survive was for some to die, and he played God in making that decision. His own twisted form of eugenics decided who lived and who died. There was some kind of mix-up, and I was thrown in the group of those slated to die, but then Kodos saw me, and he went on this rant about how I was the perfect specimen of humanity, so strong even after a month of starvation. He pulled me out and made me watch as they were sentenced to death and executed.

"Then the next day, Christmas, the supply ships arrived. People called it a Christmas miracle. I've never been so certain."

Jim alternated between speaking and silence for the next few hours, until his voice was raw and nothing more than a whisper once again. Finally, his body sagged as exhaustion overcame him, and Spock gently maneuvered him so that his head rested on his shoulder and Spock's arms were wrapped around him under the blanket, pulling him close and holding him up.

Spock felt warm tears soak into the fabric of his uniform, and he allowed Jim to cry, rubbing soothing circles into his back and continuing to project a steady stream of love and understanding. Eventually, Jim's shaking sobs and hot tears stopped, and he sat up, causing Spock to loosen his hold.

"I'm sorry, Spock," he whispered, his gaze fixed on the small Christmas tree once again. "You shouldn't have to listen to me moan about the past. It's over. I should be strong enough to move on from it."

At those words, Spock broke his silence. "Look at me, ashayam," he requested, and Jim did so, watery eyes meeting Spock's. "You are stronger than many others in your position would be. You were a child sentenced to death and then saved because you matched a twisted man's idea of perfection. You witnessed the needless deaths of 4,000 people. To still hold powerful emotions about such events is not a sign of weakness.

"Joy is not the only feeling present during this time of year, and you cannot hold yourself to such an impossible standard. You are the one who taught me that it was acceptable to feel, Jim, and if it is acceptable to feel joy, then it must also be acceptable to feel pain. These events shaped you, to deny the sway they hold over you would be illogical. Instead, you have managed it."

"I've hidden in my room for the past day. That's not what I would call managing it." The self-reproach that Spock could so clearly hear in the man's voice made his heart clench.

"No, my ashayam. You have taken a day to allow yourself to feel, to remember, and to accept what happened. There are others who would have never recovered from seeing such terror, and yet you have thrived. One day does not disqualify an entire life lived."

Jim leaned forward until their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling. "What did I ever do to deserve you, Spock?" he whispered. Spock didn't respond except to tilt his head and place a gentle kiss on his salty lips.

When he drew away, there was a small smile curling on Jim's lips. It was nowhere near as strong as his usual grins were, but it was there, and Spock basked in its warmth.

"I've taken up your whole day, but we can still go to the holiday party if you want to," Jim offered quietly. "I don't think it starts for another hour or so, which would give me time to shower and change into something more presentable than my pajamas."

Spock surveyed the man, taking in the deep bags under his eyes, the slump in his shoulders, the tears-stains on his cheeks. He knew that Jim did not truly wish to go, and he would not force his ashayam to appear in public when he knew that the crew would ask him where he had been. No, he was perfectly content to spend the night here, by Jim's side.

He shook his head slowly. "No, ashayam, I have no desire to attend the celebrations this evening. I have no need to surround myself with overly excited crewmembers and excessive amounts of garland."

Jim laughed softly at that, a warm smile filling his face once again and a sparkle shining in his eyes. "I should have figured. Do you have any other plans?"

"Aside from spending as much time with my ashayam as he will allow?" Spock teased, leaning forward to place another kiss on Jim's lips. "No, I do not."

They sit there for a few minutes more, simply enjoying one another's presence before Jim's eyes light up. "Can we watch a Christmas holovid? I mean, I know you don't celebrate the holiday, but this one's really not religious."

Spock's lips turned up in a small smile. "Of course."

They spent the next two hours on the couch, Jim's head in Spock's lap and Spock's fingers tangled in his hair, watching the holovid and simply enjoying one another's presence. By the time the movie had ended, Jim was asleep, snoring gently. Spock did not try and hide the smile that spread across his face at the sight. Instead, he closed his eyes and slowly drifted to sleep, basking in the warmth of love that had banished the darkness like the sunrise chasing the night from the sky.

A/N So, what did you think? A lot of the time, I'm really excited for Christmas, but when it finally comes, I feel a bit blue, which is something I think a lot of people can relate to (although hopefully we aren't all blue for the same reason as Jim). As always, I love to hear from you, and if anyone is feeling artsy, fanart is literally the greatest gift I could ever receive! I hope you all enjoy the holiday season, whether you celebrate or not!


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